Broken Glass
by Confused Pumpkin
Summary: Nobody knew what he was feeling. Nobody! Nobody's pain could compare with his agony. Losing your other half was like breaking your soul and setting the pieces on fire. How Eragon feels when he loses Saphira. Dark fic, One-shot


**Author's Note-Sad, gloomy story. But I still like it. This is my first Eragon fanfic, so please be nice and do not throw dragons at me!**

**Summary: How a Rider (Eragon) feels when he loses his dragon. This has no action whatsoever, so be warned. However, I tried to make it worth your time. One-shot. Please read and review!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not even parts of the plot.**

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Eragon

He was staring at the ocean again, lost in thought.

The blue of the water reminded him of a once-upon-a-time happiness, when he had a companion who knew him inside out, who shared his thoughts, his worries, and his mind.

Saphira.

She had died, and left him alone in the world. He had begged, pleaded, for release from this cruel, cruel world, yet was denied every time.

_It's over_, he thought. _All I have to live for, is over._

After she had died, he had vowed that her death would not be in vain. He would bring down the tyrant that caused her death.

And he did.

But now, now that Galbatorix was gone, what was he going to live for? What now? What now?

He watched the waves claw up the shore, crawling higher and higher, until gravity forced them to retreat back to the ocean. Then the process started again, and the waves resumed clawing up the beach.

_Just like me,_ he realized. _Just like me._

How many times had he wished for death? Too many to count. Then, just as he was nearing it, oh-so-close to the tempting darkness, something had to pull him back, back to this accursed land where happiness could never be.

At least, not for him.

How close he always was to the void, to his dear Saphira, so many times! But everything he had wanted was snatched from him just as he was within reach.

He wanted to _die_.

_I should have been the one who died,_ he thought bitterly. _Not my dragon. Not beautiful, wise, funny, loving Saphira. Not the being that I had grown attached to. No, it should have been _me.

He glared at his gedwëy ignasia, a reminder that would be with him until the day he died.

A reminder of what he had lost to gain freedom for Alagaësia.

A reminder why he was so bitter at heart.

A reminder of Saphira.

Saphira...

Saphira...

Saphira...

He would never tire of remembering her. She, who brought light and happiness into his home. She, who had promised to always put her safety in front of his, which in turn robbed her of her life.

She, who had turned a simple farm boy in a famed Dragon Rider.

She had saved his life countless times before. From Durza, Murtagh, the Kull, and so many others.

And how did he repay her? By letting her die!

His temper exploded, and a tree twenty feet away caught on fire, blazing mightily. He ignored the burning tree and concentrated on not killing anybody who was foolish enough to come close to him.

Why did he come here? many a people thought.

Merely to think, he had always said. Merely to think.

But really, was he here only to think, or did he come to this isolated beach to grieve for his loved one, the other half of his soul? His soul was broken, always was broken, but the other half of him had been there to shield him from the world.

Now she was gone.

Now, he had to face the world on his own.

He picked up a seashell and drew back his arm, his eyes fixed on the churning waves. His hand flicked forward and the blue shell sailed with inhuman speed and strength into the sea.

Blue, just like Saphira.

Why, oh why, did he grow attached to someone only to be torn away? So many deaths, all caused by him.

Garrow, Brom, Oromis, Glaedr, Galbatorix (he felt no remorse for _his_death), Shruikan, and so many others.

His handsome, elvish face twisted in pain and grief. The slanted brown eyes, once so full of energy and brilliance, were dull and lifeless. The wind whispered in the pointed ears, whispering, whispering, _You are alone. All alone..._

The fire that had burned in his soul was extinguished, like a candle snuffed out.

His soul had been shattered like a mirror broken into a thousand pieces, reflecting his brightness no more.

And the dead eyes, so lifeless and empty, like...like nothing ever seen before. His grief so deep, nothing could compare with it, nothing but what Riders and dragons alike feel when they lose their other half.

He was alive outside, but had died inside.

He should have died! Not Saphira! Saphira, she was good and kind. She didn't deserve her fate!

He wanted nothing more than to slip out of this world, to be with his loved ones again. Without his dragon, he was a shadow of his former self, a shadow of the majestic Rider that had saved the fate of Alagaësia.

Sobs broke from his lips and he fell to his knees, mourning deeply. A wild, untamed hurt flowed through him, a blazing inferno that was cold and evil.

Darkness engulfed his body, seeping through his mental barriers like they weren't there, and plagued his mind with memories of happier times. The cold breath of these unnatural forces grabbed him and held him in a trance, unwilling to ever let him go.

He knew what these creatures were, these creatures that took over his body and broke it to do as they wished. And he accepted them.

Misery.

Pain.

Darkness.

Depression.

Hopelessness.

He accepted it all.

_Cold, maniac laughter bubbled to the surface, shadowing him in its freezing claws. He ignored it and stared straight ahead, chanting her name over and over again, to remind himself why he was doing this..._

He would allow the creatures to envelope him in their cold embraces.

_The tiny blue head poked out of the stone and stared at him, eyes ancient and wise beyond its year s. It squeaked at him and snapped its jaws._

_"A dragon," he breathed._

_It squeaked at him again and crawled onto his lap. He touched its head and in that moment, they were bonded forever._

He would allow them to show him these memories.

_"Saphira," he whispered._

_She looked at him with one blue eye._

_"Saphira," he murmured again, testing the name on his tongue. The dragon tossed her magnificent head, obviously approving of the name._

Eragon,_ she hummed, wrapping her tail around her legs. _Eragon?

_"Saphira. Hmmm...well, I guess that your new name then."_

_She scratched her nose with an ivory talon._

He would preserve the memories and cherish them.

_Saphira spread her wings and took to the air with her Rider on her back. Together, they were lord of the sky and daughter of the wind. The rising sun inched upwards, turning the grey of the heavens into the wonderful pinks and golds of dawn._

_He smiled and a rush of adrenaline pumped through his system. Saphira bugled and swooped over the Varden camp._

_He had forgotten how free it felt to soar through the air._

_Now, the blue dragon turned her nose up and shot above the clouds, her gigantic wings beating rhythmically to support their weight._

_Birds called fearfully and darted out of the way of the snapping teeth, and the Rider laughed in delight at the feel of the wind in his hair._

Some were happy. Others were not.

_He hacked at the soldiers while Saphira burned them into a crisp with her fiery breath. His blue sword gleamed in the light, reflecting the rays of the sun like a long, thin mirror._

_Suddenly, Saphira let out a cry of pain. He looked at his partner and saw an enchanted arrow protruding from her flank._

_He pulled the black shafted arrow out. "Waise heill," he murmured and the wound knit together._

_More soldiers came, packing tightly toward them and forcing them back. Saphira did not dare open her wings and take to the sky lest an archer shoot her down. Instead, she fought on the ground with her Rider._

Eragon, I am weary_, she sighed. She let out another blast of blue fire._

Retreat and rest for awhile, Saphira,_ he had told her. But she had refused and demanded that his safety was her first priority._

_"Brisingr!" he yelled and the sword burst into flame. The Empire's soldiers yelped and leaped back, but he cut them down with his burning weapon._

_Another half hour passed and nothing new happened. Soldiers died, Brisingr blazed joyfully, minor cuts sprang up on his body, and blood splattered the ground._

_A shriek of pain interrupted his focus. He whirled to his right and found Saphira with a green sword through her chest._

_"NO!" he cried. Without thinking, he thrust Brisingr at the foolish man who was gripping the green sword tightly. No doubt the owner. Brisingr tore right through the man's front and out his back, shearing through the armor like cheese._

_The man screamed once and died._

_"No, Saphira, please don't die!" he pleaded._

Do not mourn me, little one,_she murmured. _Death is but a part of life.

_But he did not care. His Saphira could not die, not if he had any say in it. He pulled the green sword out of her body and prepared to use magic._

Do not waste your energy on me, Eragon. I am weak. Let me die. It is my time.

_"No," he gasped. "No, I won't let you die, Saphira. If you die, all we did would have been in vain."_

But the Varden will still have you,_ she reminded him. _Please, Eragon, let me go. Allow me to surrender to the darkness that beckons to me.

_With tears streaming down his face, he whispered the words of healing desperately. But it was too late. Saphira's blue eyes were glazed over and lifeless. The look frightened him. His dragon was gone._

_Gone._

_Gone to another world._

_Dead._

_He stood with fire in his eyes and a berserk frenzy of fury in his heart. He would avenge his Saphira. Urû'baen would fall._

_Right. Now._

He shook his head and sat back on his heels, ignoring his burning muscles that protested against such abuse. Picking up a rock, he unsheathed his dagger and began to carve something on the stone.

Tears still leaked out of the corner of his eyes, but he did not wipe them away.

Mourning time was over.

It was time to move on.

He glanced at the rock in front of him. Unconsciously, he had carved a majestic dragon, her wings spread in flight, tail whipping in pure joy, a figure on her back. On the bottom, he had written, _Saphira Bjartskular and her Rider Eragon Shadeslayer._

"I'm sorry, Saphira," he whispered. "So sorry."

He tossed the rock into the forest to his left and walked away.

He did not see the rock bounce once, twice, before it landed on four great stones, one red as the setting sun, one blue as the tossing waves, one silver as the dancing moonlight, and one gold as the stars above.

"Saphira," the wind echoed.

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Alternative Ending

He tossed the rocked into the ocean and drew Brisingr. The blade felt lovingly right in his hand. Sunlight danced on it, creating shadows and patterns that were ancient, yet young.

He raised the sword to his wrist. No, he couldn't. He wouldn't. It would be too painful. And he feared pain.

_Stop being a coward!_ his mind yelled at him. _Just do it!_

He shut his eyes tightly and drew Brisingr across his wrist, severing a vein. Pain exploded in his arm, and red clouded his vision, though his eyes were shut.

The pain was unbearable.

"Waise heill," he grit out, and his flesh instantly knit together, and the wound was gone.

He stared at his arm. Fresh blood was around the place where the wound was, and drops of crimson dotted the sand, like little marching soldiers of red. Brisingr's blade was stained with its owner's own blood.

"No, I can't do this," he groaned.

He couldn't. He was too much of a coward. But he still sought release from this world. He was tired of running away.

He wanted the numbness and emptiness of death. He wanted the haunting darkness. Death was strong. Death was powerful. Even the strongest warrior could die from a single thrust of a blade, and he knew that he was definitely capable of dying.

Besides, wasn't dying also considered leaving the land forever? If he killed himself, he was fulfilling what Angela had foreseen.

But what if the light at the end of the tunnel means that the tunnel is on fire? What then?

He took a deep breath and steadied his shaking hand.

He raised his faithful sword and held it to his neck. Just a bit more pressure...and he broke the skin. Drops of blood once again fell, drenching his elf tunic with crimson and staining his trousers.

_I'm sorry, everyone. Sorry. But I have to, if I want to join Saphira again._

Brisingr rose and fell like a great shining star. Eragon crumpled to his feet, blood pooling on the sand.

_I'm sorry._

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**Author's Note-I wasn't sure if you would like the alternative ending, I mean, not many people enjoy killing the main character. But I'm known for having an evil side. Personally, I prefer the first ending. Please review! And tell me which one was better!**


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